


Imparting Wisdom

by Emmithar



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Fun, Games, Humor, Pre-Canon, Tags to be added, Trouble, oneshots, tags to change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28890540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmithar/pseuds/Emmithar
Summary: “Why we gotta do this anyhow? This is stupid.”“You won't think it so stupid when you're trying to slip from the law-or how about when you need to catch someone? You think they're just gonna stand there, let you tie them up if you ask nice enough?”“Law'd rather shoot us,” he grunted, pushing himself to his feet. Wincing at the ache in his battered body. “You got any sound advice for that?”“Course,” Dutch pulled himself up into the saddle, “don't get shot.”-------A collection of oneshots in which Dutch teaches Arthur the art of being an outlaw, in rather unorthodox ways.Set Pre-Cannon.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	Imparting Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a collection of oneshots I'll be dabbling with no rhyme or reason. Just some ideas floating in my head that I felt the need to share-plus a little happier times than what I normally write.
> 
> Thanks goes out to Darling_Jack for helping with some of these ideas. If you haven't checked out her work yet, you must. They are killer! 
> 
> Anyhow, onto some shenanigans!

The hot, dry air of the desert consumed him.

The wind tepid as he raced by. His hat did little to blot out the setting sun, bright rays forcing him to squint as he urged the horse on. Driving her, coaxing and cajoling every ounce of stamina he could out of her. A plea she answered willingly.

Her hooves tore into the ground as she darted across the open plains, huffing as the sagebrush tickled at her underbelly. Her chortles and chuffs echoed in his ears, her heart racing in tandem with his. He could feel the pounding, the twitch of her muscles as he moved. Could feel that she was tiring.

“Come on, Bo,” he breathed, voice raspy from earlier. His yells and hollers lost on the wind. Her ears twitched as his words, tossing her head as they turned. Arthur taking a moment, just a moment to glance behind. Seeing the shadowy figure from the corner of his eye.

They were still being pursued.

And their pursuant was gaining.

He let out a curse, turning back around. Heart thundering in his chest. His voice impossibly loud in his ears. “We ain't done yet, girl.”

Tired as she was, she answered his push. Head down, hooves digging deeper into the dirt.

Boadicea was a firey young thing-a Standardbred he'd filched one night from a nearby stable. She was entirely stark black-like an oil spill, save for a single spot on her leg. The shine of her coat and the spark in her eyes had made her far too tempting for Arthur to pass up. He'd stop by a few times, sweeten her up with a few sugar cubes.

The mean old bastard who owned her had taken notice of his interest, and tried to sell her quick for a hefty two-hundred dollar sum. Frankly, that he would even put a price on a horse so fine was justification enough in Arthur’s eyes. He snuck back that evening, riding her out under the cover of night.

The two of them were thick as thieves; inseparable.

Almost moving as one-a good thing, he reckoned, turning her to the south now, the sun resting on their flanks. He blinked away the spots before his eyes, hand falling to his side. Fingers closing about the rope, coarse fibers rubbing against his calloused skin.

“Easy, girl,” he softened her displeasure. Knowing they were running out of time. Knowing he'd have only one chance to get this right.

He let go of her reigns. Knees pressed tight to keep her driving. Arm circling above his head, the rope swirling ever faster. Building up the needed momentum. Edging her with his knees, turning her a little more. The dark figure drawing closer, heading straight for them. His own horse, digging deep to close that gap between them.

He let go.

The lasso shooting out. Arching-a beautiful bend it as it opened, ripe for snagging.

Missing completely.

The man ducking underneath the trap moments before Arthur pulled back. The rope snagging brush instead of flesh.

Shit.

Too late-he'd been too late.

Drawing the rope in a hurry. Trying to get Boadicea to turn. Trying to get the rope back up-trying to get another chance.

A chance he never got.

A lasso of his own falling across his shoulders, rope pulled taut before he could so much as even breathe. Let alone yell as he found himself falling. Bo's warm flank gone beneath him, the ground rushing up. He hit hard, air rushing out of him. A burn racing right through him.

For one, long moment, he lay there stupidly. Blinking up in the twilight that was creeping across the sky. The sun painting faint clouds in glorious reds and yellows.

It was going to be a cold night.

The thought sitting funny with him, a groan escaping his lips as he sat up, motions slow as he peeled the rope slowly off. Snarling as he heard the laughter. Robust and fully self-assured.

“You aren't much of a rider, are you?”

He could practically see the grin on Dutch's face. Bastard.

“I can ride just fine,” he growled, “just can't throw a damn rope, 's all.”

“Oh, you came close that last time” a chuckle split the air, “why, if I was standing in them bushes over there, you would have gotten me for sure! It's an improvement!”

Dull as he was, even he didn't miss the patronizing tone. Reserved for the likes of him and his failed attempts. Motivation, Dutch liked to call it-whatever the hell that meant.

“Whatever you say,” he spat out glumly.

The man had dragged him out here, shortly after they ate lunch. Saying there something important to show him. They'd left camp behind, riding out into the open valley, Arthur taking the lead at Dutch's suggestion. The man claiming there was something just up ahead. Curiosity picking away at him as he rode out in front of him, completely caught off guard as the lasso fell around his shoulders the first time.

He'd been stunned; confused, angry, annoyed-but the impervious joy on Dutch's face had wormed it's way into him, the man urging him to try. Tossing him a rope of his own. Showing him how to knot it. Goading him into a chase. 

It'd become a game then.

One he was sorely losing, if the bruises on his backside were any indication. Dutch had managed to unseat him near a dozen times now. Arthur hadn't even gotten close once. They'd been doing this for hours, and he was no closer to success. The only thing he'd actually learned was how to fall on his ass without breaking something.

That, and how to repress his sudden urge to wipe that haughty grin off of Dutch's face.

“Oh come now, Arthur,” the man sighed, earlier humor gone, “this sourness of yours is unbecoming. Now, up on your feet. You'll get it eventually.”

“Why we gotta do this anyhow? This is stupid.”

“You won't think it so stupid when you're trying to slip from the law-or how about when you need to catch someone? You think they're just gonna stand there, let you tie them up if you ask nice enough?”

“Law'd rather shoot us,” he grunted, pushing himself to his feet. Wincing at the ache in his battered body. “You got any sound advice for that?”

“Course,” Dutch pulled himself up into the saddle, “don't get shot.”

He watched as the man coiled the lasso back, letting it hang by his side. Watching him, expectantly. Less chipper in his tone as he pressed, “Come on, Arthur, we ain't got much daylight left.”

He didn't want to. Truly he didn't-Arthur wasn't sure he could take another fall, nor could face another embarrassing humiliation at his sloppy attempts. Wondering if the man would even listen to a protest. A plead-Dutch enjoying this all too much.

He let out a sigh, his hands resting on his hips.

“Dutch-Bo's tired, she's done run up and down this valley these past hours now. She needs to rest,” he gestured wildly with his hands to where the Standerdbred stood, huffing irately. “Sides, you said it yourself, we ain't got much daylight left. The others are gonna worry 'bout us if we don't get back.”

That seemed to do the trick. Knowing full well the last time they'd come on back late; Grimshaw had a near fit. Something he wasn't keen on repeating any time soon; nor was Dutch if any indication by the look on his face. A worry working its way over his features, the man turning towards the setting sun. As if thinking, mulling over the options in his head. Finally, he let out a weary sigh, conceding.

“Right you are, my boy. Best we get on.”

He didn't need to be told twice. Limping over to Boadicea in a hurry, hoisting himself up. Slipping her a peppermint, as though that might be enough to make amends for these past hours. “Lets go, girl.”

He coaxed her into a trot, catching up with Dutch. The man already leading the way. He fell in next to them, the horses strolling at a leisurely pace, the pair of them, watching the sun sink slowly into the land. The first sign of stars gracing the land below. He heard Dutch hum, the man's voice low, reserved.

“Perhaps it's best if we didn't tell Hosea about all this.”

He let out a hum in agreement. Feeling as though that _was_ for the best. The man was sure to kill them both if he learned what they had been up to. “Suppose you're right.”

He seemed pleased with that. Dutch giving Arthur a wry grin, the suggestion coming out a moment later.

“Race you back to camp?”

“Ah, I don't know,” he shrugged his shoulders. Bo could run well enough, but Dutch had an unfair advantage with Caliph, a Nokota that was just about as haughty as he was. “Bo's all run out, I reckon.”

“My dear boy, you can't aim to tell me your marvelous steed cannot keep up with likes of old Caliph here?” Dutch goaded him. “Or are you admitting that you ain't much of a rider?”

The taunt, working. Arthur growling under his breath. “You really want to do this?”

“Course,” the reply came without hesitation. “And in a show of good sportsmanship, I'll even give you a head start.”

That seemed...unlike him. Arthur watching warily. Untrusting-wondering what catch there was too all this. But the man seemed genuine, gesturing with his hand. He let out a grunt, gathering up the reigns.

“Fine,” he spat out, his voice falling lower in the next, “come on girl, one more time.”

She took off, a spring in her step, the short respite enough to give her the needed push to go. Wind whipping by, far cooler than it had been before, the light nearly gone now. Even running, they'd make it well after dark. Perhaps the sole reason Dutch had wanted to hurry him along-

His thoughts, leaving, as the rope fell around his shoulders. Pulling taut, drawing him back. Reigns slipping free of his hold as he found himself falling. Winded once again as he hit dirt, cursing with what little air he managed to draw in.

He glanced up as Dutch raced by, the man laughing. A holler on the wind.

“I'll see you back at camp!”

The bastard.

He swore, picking himself up gingerly. New aches and no doubt new bruises coating his skin as he peeled the rope off. He threw the damn thing in the dirt, kicking it for good measure. Watching as Dutch faded into the night. A scowl on his face as he stomped his way back over Bo.

Like hell he wasn't gonna tell Hosea.

He was gonna tell Hosea _everything._


End file.
